


i brought a gun to a knife fight

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefly Setting, But Not Much, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, No Voltron, Other characters are briefly mentioned - Freeform, Space Cowboys - Freeform, Stuff taken from the show Firefly, sharpshooter vs samurai, space western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 20:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: “Who are you?” the man has the audacity to ask as a response.“No, no, we’re not starting that. I asked you first and I have a gun pointed at your chest, so you should be the one to answer.” Lance presses the barrel of the pistol against the man’s skin with more force, to emphasize his point further.“I may have asked second,” he says, lips barely separating as he speaks, “but I’m also the one who has their knife pressed against your throat.”(Or, a self indulgent space western au)





	i brought a gun to a knife fight

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary says, this is a self indulgent au that I desperately needed after my traditional marathoning of Firefly over winter break. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Who are you?” Lance asks, chest heaving as adrenaline slowly fades away from his body after the recent scuffle. Dust chokes the air around them, and the ground is littered with clean, precise footprints.

It looks like they had just danced together.

His back is harshly pressed against the wall, rough bricks cutting through the fabric of his brown trench coat and prickling his skin. Sweat beads onto his skin, flattening his short cropped hair onto his forehead, and his muscles scream for him to move, but Lance is unfortunately locked into an uncomfortable position. His opponent has a knife against his throat; the cold metal threatens to slice his skin to ribbons.

The man’s striking violet eyes have narrowed into a very menacing glare, the sharp corners of his stare piercing through Lance’s carefully constructed walls. A red bandana is tied around the stranger’s neck, holding back some of his long, inky hair, which curls around his pale throat and jawline and falls into his eyes.

This sight before Lance ensnares him. It’s a shame that such beauty is found in such a deadly expression, especially when said expression is fully aimed at him.

“Who are _you_?” the man has the audacity to ask as a response.

“No, no, we’re not starting that. I asked you first and I have a gun pointed at your chest, so you should be the one to answer.” Lance presses the barrel of the pistol against the man’s skin with more force, to emphasize his point further.

“I may have asked second,” he says, lips barely separating as he speaks, “but I’m also the one who has their knife pressed against your throat.”

Lance’s eyes flicker down to the gleaming blade for a split second, attempting to relax his body and pretend that the knife isn’t an ounce of pressure away from killing him. “Technicalities,” he finally musters, proud that there is no stutter in his voice.

“You were stealing my score,” the man growls, eyes a mosaic of all sorts of purple and gray hues that swirl together into one threatening storm.

“ _Your_ score? I don’t think so,” Lance bites back. “That robbery belongs to me and me alone.”

The grip Lance has on his pistol loosens as the stranger lifts his blade a centimeter away from his neck, possibly considering other options than just killing the person who gets in his way. Lance fully appreciates that. “Who contracted you?”

Lance angles his head to the side, trying to decide how to answer. “No one, I work for myself and my crew.” Now, if he could only get message off to Hunk and Pidge that he is in a little bit of trouble, that would be perfect.

“Oh wait, now I remember. You were the guy Allura warned me about. You’re Lance, best sharpshooter in the quadrant.”

 _In the whole_ verse, he wants to correct but doesn’t. “I’m flattered someone else acknowledges how dangerous I am.”

At this, the man scoffs, taking another slight bit of pressure off of Lance’s skin though Lance can tell that he could whip that blade back in full force in a nanosecond and leave him for dead. Lance has to smirk at that though; he might be dead in that scenario but not before he lodged a bullet in the stranger. They’d go down together.

Impossibly, they seem to be closer than they were before. A hint of a scar runs across the man’s cheek, but it’s old and long since faded. It was probably the product of a bullet grazing a little too close for comfort. “Don’t be. It was easy to take you down; I’m not impressed.”

“It was easy to take you down too, Keith--yeah, that’s right, I realize who you are now.” Lance’s biggest rival in the whole verse stands before him, with that stupid smirk plastered over his stupidly pretty face. They have never met in person before but Lance still feels like he knows Keith by reputation alone. So he continues with the intimidation approach though they are long past that. “If I just put a little pressure on my finger, you’ll be done for. Your pretty little knives can’t save you then.”

“Like I wouldn’t slice your throat the minute I saw you twitch.” Keith taps the flat side of his knife on the underside of Lance’s chin for an unnecessary emphasis.

Lance’s eyes flash as he quirks up a corner of his lips. “It seems like we’re at a draw.”

“Seems that way,” Keith replies, eyebrows drawn together to cause wrinkles in his forehead. Lance could smooth them out with his thumb if he wanted to.

“Who’s going to back away first? Me? You? Frankly, I don’t trust you and your pretty violet eyes.”

This causes Keith to bawk slightly. “You think I’m pretty? I’m flattered, but my type of men does not include those trying to kill me.”

“ _Sweetheart_ ,” Lance hums, “I’m everyone’s type. It’ll only be a matter of time.” With his free hand, Lance traces that sharp jawline with a fingers, eventually twirling a few of those wild, black locks around his fingers and pulling him forward, fully aware of the weaponry between them but beyond caring. “All you have to do is ask.”

There’s a blinding, somewhat toothy, smile as if he’s seriously considering Lance’s offer, but in the end, he doesn’t follow through with actual words. Instead, he tugs at Lance’s suspenders with a brief chuckle, snapping them back into place. He backs away, arms crossing over his chest as he allows his knife to precariously swing from a few fingers. “Hmm, maybe you are my type, but that’s not going to stop me from finishing my job.”

“You know,” Lance says, tapping his chin in thought. His pistol is lowered to the ground but he doesn’t consider himself stupid enough to holster it yet. “I could use a guy like you. The traps and locks set in place are pretty tricky.”

He’s supposed to be heisting a valuable artifact from a well secure mansion, which belongs to a commander--Sendak is his name--who had ended up doing terrible things in a war that Lance’s side had lost. An alliance, or more accurately, an empire, controls the verse now, and Lance can only do his best by staying in the shadows and out of their reach. But he can’t help but feel that this job holds a special place in his heart, if only to get revenge on this man for killing some of Lance’s comrades.

Finally, Lance flips his pistol back into his holster, tapping on the tarnished handle for good luck. Leaning down, he picks his hat up off the ground, determinedly brushing off a few patches of dust littering the brim. He tilts it on the his head, only to push it back to stare at Keith. “So?” Lance asks, impatient.

This is a time sensitive job after all.  

Keith’s glare continues to study him, as if calculating the advantages and disadvantages of this--brief--alliance. “Let me get this right, are you suggesting we work _together_?”

Lance’s only answer is to shrug, anticipation churning in his stomach. It may be fun. Even if he’s always hated this guy, he’s always admired him too. “I feel like we can make a pretty good team.”

“Only if we split the profit fifty fifty.”

“I would be insulted if you suggested anything differently.” Placing his hands on his hips, his long coat brushing behind him to reveal both pistols--one at either hip--Lance arches an eyebrow. “Any day now, Samurai.”

“Allura won’t like it and Shiro already has a buyer lined up…” Keith mutters, biting at his lower lip.

Lance’s eyes widen, his brain comprehending the words that had just spewed from Keith’s mouth. “Shiro, as in _the_ Shiro, champion of the resistance? That guy’s my hero!” And Allura is probably the most beautiful, and dangerous, woman in the whole verse; just who is Keith aligned with and how?

“Heh, he’ll be pleased to know he has a fan.” He manages to cock a smirk.

“You’re mocking me,” Lance pouts, walking closer.

The air in the alley is dank, steal with rotten food and dead rats somewhere hidden in the shadows that accompany every corner. At random intervals, a hover car will pass, the headlights breaking into the alley and casting a pale glow over Keith’s already pale features. It’s haunting to see. A faint breeze rustles, twisting through Keith’s long locks, toying with them, and eventually this gust of wind leaves only to take the breath of fresh air away with it.   

Lance’s gaze is harsh as he continues to set it on the man in front of him.

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Keith responds with, “I’m not; I promise.”

“Ha! I’d be a fool to believe that.”

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” Keith admits, “You just become so expressive when riled up. It’s cute.”

Flustered, Lance tries to recall the retort that had been on the tip of his tongue, but with his mind having gone into shutdown mode--cheeks brightening with a crimson red and all thoughts simply ceasing to exist--he can’t find a response.

“Wow, so you can’t even handle your own tactics being thrown back at you. That’s lame,” Keith chuckles.

The sound finally jars Lance back to reality as he bites his lip in frustration. So he had been caught off guard; he just has to make sure that it never happens again. Instead of responding with a well meaningful insult--something along the lines of ‘your hair isn’t that great’ or something equally as terrible--he decides to change the subject. “Okay, here’s the plan. Since Shiro already has a buyer, we can both drop the artifact off to this mysterious buyer and that way we can both get our money at the same time.”

“I’ll agree to that,” Keith relents, “Good plan, Lance.” Those eyes are as sharp as his knives, cutting through his skin faster than any blade he wielded could.

“Thank you, Samurai.” Comically he bows, tipping his hat forward while never taking his eyes off of Keith. “Your approval is much appreciated.”

Gazing towards the end of the alley, Keith tsks, though probably amused as he shakes his head with a smile. A bit of faded sunlight catches the wayward wisps of his hair, coloring them gold. Without waiting for another response from Lance, he begins walking onwards, knives now fasted to his belt, though his hands protectively hover over them, as if not quite ready to trust turning his back on someone he just met.

A smart man, but in all honesty, he doesn’t have to worry. At this point, Lance is more interested in drawing his attention and thoughts to another part of Keith. It’s such a shame that his rival has such a nice figure. But before he can allow his cheeks to burn any further, Keith turns suddenly, looking back at Lance with a raised eyebrow, hip cocked.

“You coming?” The sparkle in his expression tells Lance that Keith knows exactly where his gaze had wandered to.

Lance starts to saunter towards him, his feet sliding across the dusty ground as his mind is quick to pass his brain-to-mouth filter. “Hey, want to come back to my place after?”

“You mean that rust bucket you call a ship?” At Lance’s glare, he continues, “I saw it land; that model has been outdated for years.”

That ship had gotten him through the war in one piece--well, physically, maybe not so much mentally--but he has to agree with Keith to some extent; it is beginning to fall apart. Hunk keeps complaining about needing a new compressor coil or something--but no job equals no cash and no cash doesn’t bring food to the table or buy new parts for the ship. Just another reason why he needs this to go right.

Keith has been silent too long, a calculated gaze fixated on Lance’s face--and maybe slightly his lips, but that could be Lance’s wishful thinking. Clearing his throat, he prompts, “I’m not hearing a ‘no’…”

Somehow they gravitated closer together again, now only inches away like in the beginning, just without the weapons.

“Should be fun,” he replies; a smile--or something like a smile--twitches at his lips.

Lance gently taps Keith’s nose. “Perfect.”

* * *

**_Months later_ **

* * *

Lance drums his fingers across the stained bar top. A chunk of wood is missing near the back, probably caused by a stray gunshot from one of the brawls the must happen at this establishment, and many crude words have been roughly carved into the wood, forever immortalized by the harsh hands who scratched them in. Arching his head back, he breathes in the musky smell of too many people who don’t know the benefits of taking a shower.

The lights above flicker every so often, sending a soft yellow waves onto every patron and object in this bar. Behind Lance, he hears the shouts of a few men playing pool, the electronic beep of the holographic balls banging against the cue sticks grating at his ears.

Someone yells for another round of drinks, and Lance rolls his eyes, brushing his coat further over his holsters and slowly inching his hat closer to him, hoping no one will drag him into the impending fight that will come once the drinks finally go to their heads.

He always hated these bars in the outer sector, yet he always seems to find himself in them, either getting drunk or trying to find a job--legal or not, it never matters. Tonight is different though; he’s not here to do either. Lance just had this feeling as he was passing the place that he should stop in for a little bit. Hunk said he was crazy; Pidge said he was finally losing it.

Maybe he is, because now they’re back on the ship and he’s here without backup.

Yet, after he waits a half an hour, Lance finds that his original intuition hadn’t been wrong.

A familiar shadow walks through the door.

“You again,” Lance calls out.

Keith wordlessly slides onto the empty stool next to him, waving to the bartender for a drink before turning to finally acknowledge Lance. “That a problem?”

“Well, I’m a little concerned of how you found me; I don’t normally visit this bar… or this world,” Lance comments, a little bit of distaste in his voice as he swings his head around the establishment to spy a person pick pocketing. Ah yes, the highest class of society--thieves and those who are dumb enough to be swindled by thieves.

But technically Lance is a thief himself, so he can’t necessarily comment on their actions.

Keith scoffs before taking a sip of his amber drink. “This is my favorite place on this whole shitty planet.”

“Oh?” Lance raises a curious eyebrow at that. “Am I encroaching on your territory now?” He never did learn where Keith’s main base of operations is located… not that he’s planning on infiltrating it for fun at all. No, definitely not that.

“You’re going to turn whatever I say into an innuendo, aren’t you?” Though it’s posed like a question, Lance can tell that Keith asks it as known fact. Well, he may have been thinking of a few, but he wasn’t going to use them.

Somehow during this conversation, Lance has received a drink, and he can’t help but smirk as he watches Keith flick the man a few coins in exchange. He wouldn’t call the drink a bribe, but he knows Keith didn’t pay for it out of the kindness of his heart, even with their weird relationship. They just don’t function that way.

Swirling his drink, Lance says, “How do you already know me so well? I try not to be too predictable.”

“Well, we did get to know each other _pretty_ well last time.” This time Keith is the one to smirk, making sure their legs barely brush, sparking a memory of how they shared their time together months ago. Lance is quicker though, wrapping his foot around Keith’s legs, blocking any retreat.

Keith laughs; it’s beautiful.

“Hmm, I see.” Lance leans forward as Keith clamps his mouth shut, a little embarrassed by the sound he had made. Their noses can almost touch now, and those violet eyes are much more vibrant up close. “You can’t stop thinking of me, can you?”

He shakes his head, hair falling from a messy ponytail. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m flattered.”

Surprisingly, Keith is the one to bridge the gap as he presses his unfairly soft lips onto Lance’s. His hands cup Keith’s jaw, fingers toying with the ends of his hair and twisting the locks around his fingers. Their knees bump together as they draw closer, the bar stools squeaking.

“I have a job for you,” Keith delicately whispers as they break apart, “I need your help.”

Lance smirks, spying Keith’s reddening cheeks and partially swollen lips. He loves the feeling of leaving someone breathless. “I’m listening… as long as there’s some sort of compensation in it for me.”

“Oh, there’s plenty.”

They link their hands together, and he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos:)


End file.
